


Slow News Day

by CaptainFreeman



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil is a fangirl, Cecil loves to gossip, Crack, Crack Fic, Crossover, Fluff, Humour, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, and John has had enough of Sherlock's crap, cecilos - Freeform, filled of many headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainFreeman/pseuds/CaptainFreeman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing never happens in Night Vale, ever. So on a slow news day, one Sherlock Holmes and his faithful blogger come in for a visit, something Cecil is forever grateful for. Chaos dances in as they proceed to argue, much to the dismay (or entertainment) of listeners everywhere, who are kept up to date on all the juicy details by their favourite radio broadcaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow News Day

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry everyone! I've been horrendously busy and whatnot to write things up, but now, I have the improvement of a netbook to help me with my stories. Hopefully I can start getting more in.

 Taking a long sip of his coffee, Cecil leaned back in his seat, idly flipping through some of the notes on his desk. A soft hum left his throat, which was lined with inked tattoos of several different shapes, such as a cross under his ear and even a tentacle or too. Just outside his door was an enormous sign lit up in orange, stating 'ON AIR.' Yes, he was on air, but there was not very much to report today. Momentarily, he wondered if rambling over perfect Carlos and his gorgeous hair would be of interest. 

 "Well, listeners, today has been a most quiet day in Night Vale. Very quiet indeed.. There is nothing to report, rather then my own thoughts. Though I do not want to do that. The Secret Police has issued that ban on thinking, as all of you know, last week."

 Night Vale was never quiet, though, and that was the problem. Wind drifted through the old building, it was wooden and though sturdy, the planks made for hot breezes to sway by, washing over his pale, pale skin. It was funny- Cecil should be burnt to a crisp in the heat of the days, he did live in a desert after all, yet his hue was the palest of the entire city. Logic be damned.

 "Cecil! Cecil, you've visitors!"

 That was intern Stacy. A very pretty man, he was. Long chestnut hair down to his knees were in large banana curls, and he had the prettiest light blue eyes. They even glowed in the dark. Lucky. Cecil wanted his eyes to glow in the dark, but in lieu they were only boring, all white orbs that would glow different colours on occasion, depending on his mood.

"Hold on.. Listeners, Intern Stacy has just informed me that I have visitors. While this is an interesting development, I do not yet know who my visitors are. Oh!" His voice grew higher, more excited. Un-Cecilesque and yet entirely more Cecil. "What if it's like, Carlos? The other day, I invited him to the studio, and he was all, 'maybe later Cecil,' but later is still a something, am I right?"

 "Hurry along, John!"

 That was when the door flung open, and there stood a very beautiful man, all cheekbones and paleness- about as pale as Cecil, in fact. He was a tall man, and his coat was fluttering behind as if desperate to get away. Those ethereal eyes scanned the room methodically, narrowed to a dime with a look of nothing but judgement. By Night Vale's standards he was rather odd looking. There were no markings or brandings up his arm, no highlights to his hair, and his pupils could dilate and flicker. Suddenly, behind him, stumbled in a panting, much, much shorter man, with blonde hair much like Cecil's, save for being more groomed, and a very fluffy jumper.

 "I have just learnt that the visitors are not, indeed, Carlos. While I have to say I am rather disappointed, listeners, I do think these two.. men, are almost somewhat as equally interesting. They look strange, Night Vale, one is tall and skinny, the other is not. They seem to be looking for something. More on them later. And now, a word from our sponsors."

 Hitting a little black switch, Cecil glanced to his timer, informing him of the one-minute commercial break he had. Soon he removed his headphones, which were a gleaming purple, and let them rest around his neck comfortably, while the two men in front of him got to work. Cheekbones was busy searching through an empty filing cabinet, while sweaterman was staring, wide eyed.

"Ah, sorry.. sorry for barging in on ya', mate. We're here for the murder, and.. oh! We're police! Right, yeah."

 Hesitantly, the sweaterman was fishing through his pocket, and out came a little tag with official-like symbols sprawled atop. It looked police enough. Cecil wondered if they were from the Secret Police, because it was Secret Police protocol to announce their presence.

 "The murder? Which murder? There have been many murders lately, but I do not quite consider them murders. More like.. intentional killing of others."

 While the taller one continued his extensive investigation, Cecil watched his conversation partner, who, after catching his breath, seemed to be more and more apprehensive by the moment. Shifting from shoe to shoe, he shrugged, looking at the reporter as if he had just seen him for the first time. Which, in his defense, he had.

 "Yeah, ah.. The one on the outskirts of town by Ms. Josie's house, and, it- I'm sorry. Sorry. Are you wearing contacts?"

 Cecil blinked. White orbs stared curiously back at impossibly blue pupils. The timer read a mere thirty seconds.

 "No."

"Oh. Well.. your eyes, they.. they're all white, are you certain?"

 "I am certain. I was born like this. I understand it is a little rare, but, you must have seen it before in others, surely?"

 The nervous man shook his head minutely, seeming entirely bewildered and in need of a seat, or moment to rest. Meanwhile his presumable friend was growling, primal and low in his throat, as he ransacked the studio. Intern Stacy would not enjoy having to stay late to cleanse the place of his mess, but Winter Cleaning would soon be upon them, and the deed was a necessary one.

 "I.. no, actually, never. This place has been quite strange so far though, I.. guess I shouldn't be very surpr-"

 The timer beeped at the same time the tallest of them all hopped up, slamming a fist on the table with frustration.

"Nothing! There is nothing here for me to work with!"

 "Sherlock, calm down! Relax. Maybe we could ask this kind man for some help?"

 Presumable not-Sherlock questioned, and Cecil frowned, pulling in his microphone as the two headed in, leaning close to each other and lowering their voices most aggressively. They were eagerly discussing something, but as they say and have banned the saying of in eastern regions of Night Vale after a widespread influenza outbreak, the show must go on. 

 "Listeners, the visitors have talked to me. Their voices are not like ours, with a foreign hint to their tone, and I currently know the names of only one. Sherlock. The other may or may not be titled 'John.' Now they have gathered near my door, and the shorter of the two looks flustered. I do not know what to do. The shorter also inquired as to whether I was wearing contacts, and he appears nervous. Really, do they think I am the strange one here?"

 Now their voices were raising, and Sherlock was most apparently angered.

 "John, I did not travel all this way just to be sent on a wild goose chase for a damn paper!"

 "Shh, quiet! I think they're bloody broadcasting, and no one wants to hear you while they try to listen to the radio, yah?"

"Oh, shut up!"

"Don't tell me to shut up, Sherlock. You're a child, I swear!"

 That was when Cecil straightened out, biting his lower lip, one foot tapping along happily. In the window, he could see Intern Stacy frowning, pointing at the intruders and mouthing a question, most likely asking if the citizen wanted Sherlock and John removed.

 "There is not much else to report in Night Vale, and I'm sorry if I'm rambling, but these two men are most peculiar, listeners. I wish I could show you. They are arguing about something, and I can now confirm the shorter one's name is indeed John. He was just told to shut up, and oh my God," Again, his voice got giddy from the gossip material. "If that's not the rudest thing I've ever heard. He responded back by calling Sherlock a child. Good job, John. You tell him how you feel."

 Right now, he did wish Carlos was here to see this. Maybe he could get them to go on a date, then he could describe into detail as to what went on. Cecil loved talking with Carlos. The man was fantastic and wonderful and funny and perfect an--

 "Oh,  _I'm_ the child?"

 "Yes, actually, you are! You're always sulking, and pouting, and putting me down! Like I'm an idiot!"

 The two were leaning in more than ever, and both had wide eyes. Tension was thick in the air. Cecil was ecstatic as to what might happen.

 "John-" Sherlock had lowered his voice, far more serious. The air had taken on this something eyes, something indescribable and something that could never be caught in a bottle. It was just a smooth, rumbling baritone in the silence. Nothing less. Nothing more.

 "I don't think you're an idiot, John." Cecil nearly squealed, watching as the man clad in his cuddly jumper looked away, squaring his jaw, the anger still clouding his vision.

 "Well, then why do you always act like it?"

 Things turned awkwardly silent, so the broadcaster lowered his voice down, suddenly wanting nothing more than to tell Carlos about these two. Oh, and his dear listeners, too. Night Vale was having a very interesting day.

 "Listeners, I apologize for whispering, but I do not want to ruin their moment. Oh. My. God. John just said that Sherlock was treating him like an idiot, and so then things went from being all tense and awkward to this, and it's quiet, listeners, so, so very quiet. I can feel the sweat on their foreheads. I can feel the regret pumping through Sherlock's blood. Obviously these two love each other, I know they do, they are so positively cute listeners, oh my God!"

 So maybe his voice did squeal a little, but that was only because the taller man had bit his lip and tilted his head down.

 "I don't intend to, John. I don't. You have proven you are not an idiot. That is very hard to do, and in fact, I think.. you are very, very smart, John. You can tell right from wrong. You've taught me how to do that now. I do not.. like this odd feeling I get around you, but, I do know now, you are not an idiot."

 "Sherlock, you git.." The name was a murmur. Their eyes were meeting, and Cecil forgot how to breath. "That odd feeling? I.. I think I get it too." 

"I think they might kiss, oh my God listeners. They're so close!" Cecil felt tears in his eyes, because this was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever gotten to witness. Bouncing in his seat, the broadcaster did not know why, or when, or how he got into this mood. Maybe from watching all those cute cat videos, it made him spunky and excitable.

  "Yes? I.. I get it more and more often, John. There is nothing else I can think about, only you, you John, you, a simple army medic who wears ridiculous jumpers-" Both Cecil and John huffed. "And I.. Do not know what it is. It swells my chest. How do I make it go away, John?"

 The silence stretched out, only Cecil's quiet cooing and tear wiping filling the space, as well as Intern Stacy face-palming himself from outside the window. That was when John reached up to grab his friend's shirt lapels in a tight fist, and Sherlock, in response, snorted while he was dragged down to a more proper level.

 "By seeing a doctor."

 They kissed.

 Cecil shouted and reached for his microphone, voice jittery as he relayed the information back to his listeners, watching the two, John blushing feverishly and Sherlock appearing uncertain.

 "OH MY GOD. Fantastic news, listeners! Sherlock and John talked more about their feelings, and they are just so cute! Aww.. But, so they were talking about how Sherlock did not know why his chest was swelling, which I think is nothing but pure love, and he asked how to make it go away, when John dragged him down to eye level, told him to 'see a doctor' and now they're right here in the studio, kissing each other silly! It is just so adorable, listeners, wait 'til I tell Carlos!"

 Clasping a hand over his mouth to stop the inhuman squeak when Sherlock pushed John up against the door, Cecil could do nothing but whimper as the pair let out a moan. Well. That was too cute, but, they were soon going to need a hotel room. He'll tell them later.

 "Well, listeners, I think that sums up our show. Stay tuned for the five-hour long mandatory lecture from Night Vale's PTA. Today has been a very interesting day and best wishes to our newest, happiest couple." 

 A yearnful sigh from Cecil, and said couple were now panting, flustered and gazing into each other's eyes, then around the studio, as if realising what had just happened.

 "Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight." 

**Author's Note:**

> That literally wrote itself. Holy crap.


End file.
